A familiar silence before he speaks. “Julie … You know why…”
I move the phone to the other ear, pretending not to hear this. Instead I imagine our song being put out in the world. “Just think about it,” I go on. “We could send it to a radio station, or put it online or something. People would listen to it, Sam. We just have to get it out there. Someone will play it. We can show them all your other music, too. All we need—”
“Julie,” Sam stops me. “Listen to yourself…”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you working on my song again?” he asks. His tone is different. Like there’s an edge in his voice. “Why are you doing this?”
I stare at the notebook, unsure of what to say. “I don’t know … I thought you would want me to. A while ago, you said you wanted to finish something. That you wanted to leave something behind. I thought … maybe this song could be it. And I can help you write it. Just like I promised.”
He sighs. “I told you, Jules … I didn’t want us to talk about this. About what I never got to finish,” he says. “There’s no point anymore…”
“But what’s the big deal? It’s just one song. And I don’t mind doing this. You have all these beautiful songs lying around. I can help you finish them. I can help put them out into the world, and maybe we can—”
“Julie, stop!” he cuts me off again. “Please. Don’t do this…”
“What am I doing?”
Sam lets out a breath, and softens his voice. “Listen … I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. I mean that. But you have to let this go, okay? This idea about working on my music and putting it out there for people to listen to—it’s too late for me. I’ve already accepted that. So stop wasting time on this, okay? Please.”
“I want to do this, though. I want to help you—”
“You shouldn’t. You need to focus on your own life, okay? You have to stop thinking about me all the time—”
“I don’t think about you all the time,” I say back. Why is he talking to me this way? “I have my own goals and things I need to finish. Like my writing. I think about myself, too.”
“Good,” Sam says. “I’m glad you do. I’m glad you have other things going on in your life. I’m glad you have a future to think about.”
I squeeze the phone tight, speechless. I never expected the conversation to take this turn. I thought I was doing something good. I thought this would make him happy. So what if I think about us sometimes? What’s so wrong with that? Why can’t we talk like we used to? Like before? Before everything was taken away from us. I don’t say any of this out loud. I know it’s the last thing he wants to hear from me.
There’s a long silence between us. I sense our call is running long and I’m not sure how much time we have left. I want to leave us on a better note in case the static comes, so I change the subject. “The film festival is tomorrow night. Tristan invited me again. But I told him I couldn’t go.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know. The way he was talking about it earlier … it made it sound sort of like a date,” I say. When Sam doesn’t say anything to this, I ask him, “What do you think?”
A silence.
“I think you should go,” he says.
“Why?”
“It sounds like fun. And Tristan’s a nice guy.”
“But I could never do that, Sam. I mean, you’re still here, and were still connected.”
Usually when I say something sentimental like this, I feel him smile on the other end and sense a warmth through the phone. But his voice is a chill in my ear.
“You and I can’t be together. You know that.”
“I know—” I start.
“It doesn’t sound like it.”
I say nothing.
“I’m beginning to worry about you,” Sam goes on. “I’m worried about our calls and what they’re doing. You’re supposed to be moving on. And it doesn’t feel like you are anymore.”
“Sam—I’m fine. I promise.”
“But you won’t even go to a friend’s movie premiere. How are you ever going to say good-bye to me?”
“Maybe I don’t feel like going out,” I say. “And I can say good-bye to you whenever I want.”
“Then say it now.”
His words hang in the air between us for a long time. How could he say this to me? I don’t even know how to respond. I hate that I have to prove something to him. A pain goes through me. “I can’t right now…”
Sam lets out a knowing sigh. “Then when will you?”
There’s a long silence between us.
“I think you should go to the festival tomorrow,” Sam says. “I think it will be good for both of us.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, trying not to overreact. “Isn’t it my choice? What if I just don’t want to?”
“I don’t see what’s the big deal,” Sam says. “It’s only a few hours. Why are you so against it?”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“Then prove it. And go.”
My voice sharpens. “Fine. I’ll go! And I’ll have a great time.”
“Good. I hope you do.”